Perfect Match
by failedfracture
Summary: Dramione one-shot. They were matched up at a silly event the last Valentines Day and Draco ran off when he saw who he was paired with. Will he make the same mistake two years in a row?


Dramione one-shot, PWP. Not especially original, not beta'd, and not very well edited... yet... Just wrote it last night and wanted to put it up while it was still Valentines Day!

Disclaimer: all characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing here, _again_."

Ginny turned on her heel to look at Draco as he walked into the fourth floor Ministry break room.

"Just bringing Valentine's snacks to Harry's team." She picked up a tin and offered it to him. "Go on, you grumpy fuck. I know you want one."

He gave her a lopsided frown and plucked the only unbroken cookie from the stack.

"Thanks." He walked toward the water cooler and then turned around. "Since you're here, maybe you can tell me what the fuck is wrong with Granger."

"Why?" She asked.

"I stopped in her office to drop off paperwork and she was all blubbery." He put his mug under the hot water dispenser and smirked. "You'd think she'd be used to being dateless by now."

He didn't really mean it. She could get a date in a snap if she wanted one, which was reason number one that she shouldn't be fucking weepy on Valentine's Day.

"Her mother died a year ago today, you complete arse."

"Oh..._Fuck_." His stomach dropped.

Ginny piled the remaining cookies in her tin and shut the lid tight, then with a flick of her wand, finished cleaning off the table. Valentine's cookie crumbs flew through the air to the garbage can, coming a little too close to his face for comfort.

"Are you sure it was today, last year? Valentines Day?" He said as he leaned against the counter, looking a little concerned, and a little confused.

"Why?"

"Because I saw her that night. For a minute. She didn't seem...like she'd lost a parent."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Where did you see her?"

He steeped his tea in the hot water, avoiding her eyes. "At The Leaky." He swallowed. "Or something."

"_The Leaky_," she replied. "At the _matchmaking_ event you said was rubbish."

Draco added sugar to his cup. It _was_ rubbish, he thought to himself. The Daily Prophet disagreed wholeheartedly, having written an article just today on the amazing matchmaking skills of Hannah Abbott. Four weddings and two engagements. Woo-fucking-doo.

"You matched with her didn't you."

He added cream, vividly recalling the excitement he'd felt when he held the silly paper in his hand, certain that the anonymous woman who had responded to the questions would be _perfect_ for him. _Fucking perfect_. And then he walked to the booth and saw...Hermione Granger.

She'd worn a lovely dark red dress that hugged her curves and flaired at the waist and he wanted very much to sit down and pretend they didn't spend the last fourteen years fucking hating one another. Instead of taking a seat, he turned around and walked out.

"She was sitting there alone...for an _hour, you absolute prick_." Ginny stepped forward, glaring at him. "And when she went home after getting stood up by her _perfect match_, she received the worst news of her life."

Draco had the good sense to look ashamed. He hadn't seen Hermione for a week after the event. She'd called in sick to work, and he had no idea why, only that he was completely relieved not to have to look at her.

"Doesn't matter if I matched with her, Gin. She _hates_ me." He stirred his tea, staring down into the white cup.

"Does she?"

* * *

The sky was beginning to darken outside her office window, but she barely took the time to notice. Throwing herself into work was the only thing that kept her sane on days like this, and she'd already committed to working until she was ready to fall asleep. In fact, she might just sleep here and avoid her empty flat all together.

She heard a knock at her door and sighed.

"Granger." Malfoy opened her door without an invitation and she glared at him, heart thudding in her chest.

"I told you, Malfoy. Unless it's urgent-"

"It is." He walked into her office and closed the door, then sat down in the leather chair across from her. He held a paper in his hand, which looked very much like it had been crumpled and flattened two or three times. Her stomach twisted up. She already knew what it was, and it sent her into a slight panic.

"Out with it then," she said, trying hard to maintain her composure. It was hard to look at him, with his perfect hair, and perfect jawline...perfect everything really.

He set the crumpled piece of paper in front of her and she looked down wearily at her own handwriting. "It was me." He said. "Last year."

Her eyes darted to his. Aside from slightly pinkened cheeks, he was expressionless.

"I know," she replied in a whisper. His eyes widened at that. "I-I mean I...guessed as much. I saw you walk out. And your handwriting was a bit of a giveaway," she continued in a thick voice.

"You didn't say anything." He looked at a spot on her desk and tugged at the collar of his robes.

"Neither did you." Her eyes wandered over his form, his stately features. For the hundredth time since last year she caught herself thinking _what if_. A full year of odd behavior had left her more confused than she'd ever been. He avoided her like the plague for two solid months, and then suddenly, he was around all the time. Dropping off paperwork in person when interoffice memo had always sufficed before, asking her about her day, dropping off treacle tarts on her desk when she failed to serve herself Christmas treats.

"_I'm not very hungry," she said._

"_You love treacle tarts. Save it for later."_

"_Thanks, but...I really haven't been much for sweets lately."_

"_If you're worried about your figure, Granger...You needn't," he had said with a strangely concerned smile. "It's doing just fine."_

_She blushed and lifted the treacle tart to her lips, not missing the way his eyes followed her hand._

"_Thank you."_

She shook herself out of the memory. "Why are you bringing this up now?" He shifted and rubbed his jaw, like she'd just landed a punch. "Just because it's Valentine's Day?"

"Maybe I want a do-over," he said with a determined look.

Her stomach did a somersault.

"There's no such thing as a do-over," she replied, handing back the piece of parchment. For whatever reason he'd kept it for a full year. It was his more than it was hers.

"No?" He raised a brow, and she felt warm under his intense gaze. He wanted a do-over and it made her heart pound in her chest like she'd just run a marathon.

When she failed to respond, he stood up and rounded her desk slowly.

"Malfoy, you can't be serious."

He turned her rolling chair toward him and knelt down in front of her. "Do you want me to leave?"

His hand touched the back of her calf, and it sent a pleasant tingle through her entire body. His brow was furrowed, like he was waiting for her to throw him out, and the sensible part of her thought she really ought to do precisely that. It was quite bold of him, approaching her in her office.

"I don't..." She said on an exhale. She meant to say _I don't know_, but the last word just wouldn't come out.

His Adam's apple moved up and down. He glanced at her lips and then away, as though he was shocked into awkwardness, and Draco Malfoy was never awkward.

They looked anywhere except for each other's eyes for that following minute, because at their close proximity it would be intense, the sort of intense that left a person feeling uncomfortably exposed.

This was what desire felt like with someone you didn't quite trust. Risky, unstable, needy, both uncertain that the other felt it in equal measures, both hesitant to make that next move and face rejection, each waiting for the moment when the other came to their senses or started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

She edged forward in her seat, and his hand drifted up to her knee tracing delicious circles with his thumb. Emboldened, they inched closer until their lips were just inches apart. One tentative hand touched her neck and he slanted his his lips over hers, hovering for a trepid moment that seemed to last an eternity. Her heart thudded in her chest as she breathed in his air, and intentionally moved her lips lightly against his. As he sealed the kiss, his hand tightened over her knee.

It was electrifying. Soft, warm, lips moving more gently than she would ever have expected from such a generally abrasive person. When his lips parted she followed his lead, welcoming the tongue that slid in and curled expertly against her own. She felt it everywhere, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

If kissing were an art form, he was a master.

The way his head tilted, his mouth playing against her own at a maddeningly slow and indecently sensual pace, it coaxed her to give herself over to him. Surely, she assumed different people preferred different things, but to her this was absolute perfection, and it stirred a warm kindling behind her navel that she had never quite felt to this degree. A quiet noise escaped her throat, and he responded by pulling her in closer, deepening their connection.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands ghosted over her form, mimicking the delicate kiss that left her brain scrambled, blood pumping fast. Fingertips traced his hollowed cheek, grazed his neck, and finally threaded in his silky hair.

He pulled his head backward and broke the kiss, for a split second, just long enough to look into her eyes with a fiery intensity that left her quivering with anticipation. When he claimed her lips once more, all hesitance was gone, replaced by pure and incendiary lust. He pulled her in more firmly, and her knees parted as she slid off the chair and...onto his hips.

They each moaned, and any reservation about whether they wanted each other was thrown out the window. The way their hands and mouths and hips moved together left no room for confusion; this was passion at its purest, and they had both given themselves over to it entirely.

He kissed her neck and pulled her tight against him so there was no room left between their bodies. Greedy hands explored her, running flat from her arms which were twisted around his neck, down to her shoulders, the sides of her breasts, dipping to trace her rib cage and then her waistline. His hands faltered at the hem of her shirt and fingers grazed an inch beneath the fabric to connect the pads of his fingers with her skin. He knotted his fingers in her curls, pulling her back in for a deep and scorching kiss that felt decidedly carnal with his hand beneath her shirt and the unmistakable feel of his hard length against her center.

She arched against him with intention, and he gasped against her mouth.

It all happened so fast, the way his hands tugged her shirt and lifted it up over her head. She pulled at the clasp to his robe and when he shrugged it off, he threw it on the floor behind them and lowered her to the ground.

"Is this okay?" He asked against her collarbone as he hovered over her.

She nodded her head, not trusting her voice. Yes, it was _perfectly fine_. Sure a bed would be nice, but she couldn't fathom a long trek to the elevator, to the floo, to her home or his. No, no, the floor was fine. And thankfully she kept her office _immaculate_.

And as he kissed his way down to her breasts and uncovered them, she looked up at the window and the way the sunset cast a warm pink glow over everything; the way his hair fell forward. She'd never seen him like this, but she'd imagined it a hundred times.

It was _perfect_, actually.

She flicked her wand at the door and locked it, barely able to focus with his mouth clasped over her breast, flicking his tongue. His hips rolled against her and her world was ablaze.

"Oh...god..."

He pushed her skirt upward and his hand moved up and down over her center as he paid her other breast equal attention. His skin was warm and soft, and her hands slid over his spine, his shoulder blades, his firm biceps.

"I need you," he whispered just before he reclaimed her lips. His words sent a shockwave through her just as surely as his hands, which tugged away at their remaining clothes and shoes until all that remained was scorching hot skin, and his hard length pressed against her thigh right next to where she needed him most.

She lifted her knees and pulled him close, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Please..." she whispered.

His lips grazed over hers as he reached between them and positioned himself at her entrance. He pressed slowly forward, his eyes open and watching her as she took him in.

Her breath sped up. He was thick and warm, and she was so wet for him that he slid easily into her depths, filling her _completely_. His lips parted and he whispered a curse under his breath.

She felt a pang of confusion and worry all of a sudden because... she was having sex with Draco Malfoy. Oh god, what was she doing? If she was going to have second thoughts it really should have been two minutes ago before he was _inside_ of her.

"Granger." He saw her slipping into thought and held her jaw gently, forcing her to look at him. "You okay?"

She bit her bottom lip.

"Yes."

The furrow of her brow must have given her away because he pressed his forehead against hers and remained still.

"I've wanted this. I've wanted you...For so...fucking...long. I'm sorry I didn't..."

She closed the distance between them and captured his lips in a kiss, moving against him until he gasped, trembled, and began to move.

His hand grasped her hip and he pulled out, then pushed back in faster, and faster, until she was overwhelmed by sensation, whimpering softly against his lips.

"Yes," she whispered between labored breaths.

"Oh _fuck_. You feel _so...good_."

She moaned in reply, rocking up and down below him with each thrust, feeling more emboldened as he relinquished his tightly held self-control. Her fingernails scratched down the length of his back and she kissed his neck and shoulder, relishing every reaction, every snap of his hips and tightening of his fingers; every sound and breath; the tightening of his muscles.

"Draco..." she said his name near his ear as she ran her fingers through his hair, and she felt him shudder, hips stalling, breath hitching.

"You're going to make me come," he said in _the sexiest voice she's ever heard in her life_.

She dragged her teeth over him, tracing his hairline with her nails, and then she whispered, "_yes_," because watching him slowly come unraveled _because of her _was incredible.

"_Fuck_." He stilled and held tight to her hips, a choked noise telling her he was right on the edge.

He pulled out of her slowly and kissed a path down her chest and abdomen, and with a suddenly nervous grip on his shoulders she said, "oh my god you can't—OH!"

His tongue felt incredible against her, so incredible she forgot all about her embarrassment. He was shameless in his exploration, and seemed completely unphased by the slick and sodden mess he'd made of her, kissing and flicking and rubbing his fingers over her flesh and then inside of her. She ran her hand through his soft hair and it felt incredibly erotic, being bared to him so completely, his head right there between her thighs. Her toes pointed over his shoulders, and she began to tremble as her core tightened deliciously.

"_Draco please...I need you..."_

He wasted no seconds climbing up her body and mounting her, and this time when he entered her it was fast. Hard. He held the back of her neck and kissed her deeply as his hips plundered against her.

She climbed to a glorious crescendo, hearing their bodies collide, feeling his velvety tongue against hers, his thick cock making her feel full and then empty, over and over.

He moaned against her lips as her cries intensified. Her nails tightened in his shoulder, limbs wrapped fiercely around him. Her back curled upward into him.

"Draco..."

"Fuck. Oh fuck _yes_," he said in that deep sexy voice, and it sent her directly over the edge.

She dropped off the steep cliff only to be carried back to the top by his insistent thrusts and dropped again. Her cries were unrestrained, overwhelmed, and her limbs shook with the intensity of her climax.

"You are so...fucking...beautiful," he said as he watched her, as he drove into her fiercely and relentlessly, his muscles tensing above her.

She gasped like she was coming out from underwater, and her hands cupped his cheeks, nails dragging against his neck. His face was flushed, brow furrowed. His gaze was profoundly primal, and she seared it into her memory.

"Oh god, oh god..._fuck_." A few more quick, deep thrusts and his eyes slammed shut. "Hermione."

She knew with each gasp, he was giving her more of himself, spilling out inside of her as he rocked his hips.

It felt so satisfying to bring him such intense pleasure, to know that it was her that brought him here.

He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck, and he stayed there for several seconds as she held him close and stroked his sweat-slick skin. And then, he slid slowly out of her and rolled over onto his back, the fine fabric of his robe protecting them from the floor.

They had been laying side by side silently for minutes before he finally spoke.

"Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

His head turned toward her, and hers toward his. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Tonight?" Her brows raised.

"Mm-hmm. We still have time for a proper Valentine's date."

"You're serious." She crosses her arms over her chest to cover her breasts, suddenly feeling very _naked_. "Yes. Alright."

He sat up and leaned over her with a grin. "I meant to ask you that before ravishing you."

"That would be the _proper_ order of events."

He leaned down and pecked her lips. "Fuck proper. Happy Valentines Day."


End file.
